The Dugout(94)

Just a few more daydreams of him wearing my major league jersey, pride breaming from ear to ear.

Just one more fleeting thought of what it would have been like to see him in the stands, giving me a curt wave, while I give him a tip of my cap.

Heart weighing in my chest, my entire body a complete wreck, I squeeze my dad tight, my tears pooling on his hospital gown. On a harrowing breath, I say, “I love you, Dad.” Sniff. “Thank you for everything, for giving me every last piece of you. Be happy with Mom now.”





Aunt Carol’s cry splinters my heart as I hold on to her with one hand and then my dad’s with the other as the doctors slowly move around us, disconnecting the machines.

There’s no use in putting on a strong face, or trying to keep it together for Aunt Carol, because I don’t have it in me, not as I watch the final machine be switched off. Dr. Turnblad somberly holds my dad’s wrist and counts his pulse, his face becoming sadder by the moment. The nursing staff stands by the door, a wall of support as Dr. Turnblad presses his lips firmly together in a look of bleakness and gently rests my dad’s hand back on the bed and covers up his chest with the blanket.

“He’s gone,” Dr. Turnblad says just as a wave of vibration hits my leg like a tidal wave. He looks at the clock on the wall. “Time of death nine thirty-five.”

My phone. Text after text as my father takes his last breath. And then it hits me.

The draft.

The constant vibration against my legs tells me one thing: I was drafted. But instead of calling my dad immediately to celebrate, I’m standing above him, his limp hand in mine, wondering how the fuck I’m supposed to be the man he raised me to be without him here in this world. How the fuck can I do that?

I watch the staff move around us, Aunt Carol presses a final kiss to her brother’s head and leaves, giving me one last moment alone.

Unable to hold myself up any more, I sit on his bed and reach into my pocket, taking my phone out. I glance at the first text message I see.

Knox: Bobbies, baby. You and me, together again. We got this, brother.

I don’t even bother to look at any of the other texts, instead, I set my phone down and glance at my dad, remembering him one last time without the breathing tube and other monitoring devices.

“It’s the Bobcats, Dad. Bobbies for life.” Tears stream down my cheeks as I squeeze his hand. “Three years, that’s all it’s going to take me. Three years, and I’ll be starting in the big leagues. I promise you. Time to work.”





Chapter Twenty-Five





MILLY





Standing outside, looking up at the Division One training sign that hangs outside the facility, I take a deep breath and adjust the blouse I chose myself when shopping for the perfect outfit to impress my brothers with.

Shane and Jerry think I’m crazy, as if my brothers wouldn’t hire me, but that’s not what I’m looking for, a job. I’m looking for a partnership and even though I have money from Cory, I don’t want to sit on it, because I want to make something of it. I don’t want a handout. I want to prove myself.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t heard from Carson since he left two weeks ago. The only reason I know his father passed is because my mother has been watching the obituaries like a hawk, keeping me updated every day. Morbid, I know, but when your boyfriend goes radio silent on you, there’s nothing else you can do.

I spent many nights wondering if I should fly down there, to at least stay in the waiting room so Carson knew someone was there with him. Cory offered to fly me more than once but every time I got the nerve to do it, I texted Carson and he didn’t respond. A part of me kept asking, what if he doesn’t want me there? What if he needed this time to himself, alone with his dad?

After no one heard from him, it became quite clear Carson was spiraling and closing himself off to the entire world. So when I’m through with this meeting, I’m going to head to the loft, grab a few more pieces of clothing for Carson, and then fly to Topeka to be with him.

With my mind elsewhere, on the boy who stole my heart, I take a deep breath and clutch my presentation folders closely to my chest before taking the first hopeful step to a new future.

When I told Sean and Rian I wanted to meet, they wanted more details but I didn’t want to get their minds working, so I told them to just carve out some time with me and come to the meeting with an open mind.

Now that the time has come, I’m feeling more nervous than I anticipated.

On shaky heels—yes, heels—I go to open the door to the facility when my phone vibrates in my hand. I let go of the handle to the door and quickly check the screen, my hope falling flat when I see Cory’s name span across the screen.

Cory: Carson doesn’t need to report for a few days. Good luck today, sis. You’ve got this.

Even though I was hoping it was a text from Carson, I shoot Cory a thank you and then take another second to gather myself.

I watched the baseball draft closely, listening to Carson’s name getting mentioned over and over again until the Chicago Bobcats picked him as their first round draft pick. I screamed out loud and then started crying. Crying out of joy and sadness. So happy that he was drafted and will be reunited with his best friend, but also sad because . . . was he watching? Did he celebrate? It was probably the biggest moment of his life, and I’m desperate to know how he spent it. Was he at least holding his dad’s hand when he found out?